"He just said his name was Jerry, and that he'd meet you at the drug

store at seven.'

The minutes passed and nothing more was said as the two men worked at washing the dust of the day from their bodies. But after Chuck had finished and he had just left the room, he heard Pat, disgusted with his own petulance, mutter "Hell!" And that was all he said of his concern.

The supper had long been finished, and the two still sat smoking, relaxed after the warm day, too content yet to take up the chore of the dishes. Chuck had almost finished telling of Jerry and the problem he represented.

"So what can I say to him? Just the way he looks at me makes me itch. His eyes are all over me, no matter what I do. At first it was fun-you know what I mean. He's a nice looking young guy, and it's nice to have somebody want you that much. But now Tony and Jim are beginning to notice, and if the boss catches on, well

وو

Pat walked over and opened the door for Sputter, the little puppy from downstairs who usually came up to enjoy their leftovers. "Doesn't he work?" he asked.

"No, he's in his last year of high school. He's about seventeen, I'd say; only a kid. Likes to draw. That's what he does all day he sits in the shade under that tree, watching us work, and drawing."

"What's he draw?"

Chuck hesitated. "Us . . .""

Pat smiled. "You mean you.

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"Not just me . . . no. One of the sketches I saw was of you."

"Me?" Pat was curious.

"Sure. Kind of a huge bull of a fella . . . heavy shoulders, chest, everything. Everything exaggerated a little, like you might imagine something you want but can't have."

•

Thoughtful, Pat sat down at the table again, cradling the dog in his arms. "Mmm . . His glance fell away from Chuck's. "Like when you first came on the gang Hell, I'd squirm around in bed half the night thinking about you. "Alone?" Chuck wondered aloud, immediately wishing he'd bitten his tongue. "Sure alone." He answered defensively, uneasy at talking so specifically of himself, by nature more expressive with his body where concerned with feelings that mattered. "I've never lived with anybody before." But his voice became hesitant, and his words dwindled away until he finally turned to the puppy and began serenading him with urgent little sounds, stroking the soft coat with his bare arms.

The moments were long as the warm day slowly ended, and Chuck watched the lazy lovemaking of his friend and the little animal, watched the tenderness in Pat's hands as they enfolded the dog, and watched the strength in the hardmuscled arms which hugged it. He trembled as he watched and, thinking of Pat's awkward reminiscence, he grew warm. But his appointment with Jerry lay just ahead, so he denied himself what he wanted most-to touch his friend, to brush quickly against the skin, just lightly enough to say, "I'm glad you're here." For an innocent love-gesture evoked in Pat such a flood of specific and awesome responses that he knew he'd be lucky to escape in an hour. He was about to start the dishes when Pat spoke softly, ostensibly playing with the puppy while feeding it leftover meat.

"And tonight you're going to have your little friend . . .

one

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